The Things That Unite
by GeoffreyF
Summary: When a faun requests permission to form a society with a slightly unorthodox tenet, Lucy wonders about the appropriate response. Perhaps Edmund will have some answers.


**Disclaimer:** To my lasting regret, I own nothing of Narnia. Ah well.

**Dedication:** To Lirenel, in memory of a wonderful discussion on some of the topics covered below.

* * *

The Things That Unite

"That's ridiculous, for goodness' sake!" exclaimed Lucy of Narnia.

The faun in front of her bowed, but seemed otherwise unconcerned by this outburst from his queen. He began to speak again in his reedy voice.

"It may seem to be, Your Majesty, but we have researched this a great deal, and this is the only logical conclusion," he said. "There is absolutely no _evidence_ for anything else …"

"No evidence!" said Lucy indignantly, half-rising from her throne. "What about us? Don't you believe us?"

The faun shifted his weight slightly. "Of course, I would never suggest that Your Majesties would deliberately deceive anybody," he said. "But it is … forgive me, _possible_ … that you may have been deceived yourselves."

Lucy took a deep breath. She mentally sketched a wildly improbable but enormously satisfying revenge on her brother Edmund, who had suggested so innocently that she take public submissions duty today. She supposed he knew all about this (he knew all about most things, after all), and had been too lily-livered to deal with it himself. Coward.

The faun cleared his throat slightly, shaking Lucy out of her pleasant reflections on how many pine cones might fit into her brother's bed without his noticing. She fixed her mind once more on the problem at hand.

"I cannot listen to any more of this claptrap," she said, rising. "You are accusing my siblings and I of, at the very least, extreme gullibility. Not to mention the huge number of witnesses who agree with us, or the written annals of history as they stand. I will allow that there may have been some mythologising involved, but I refuse to permit blasphemy of this kind."

The faun took a step back, but then seemed to marshal his thoughts. "You must understand, Your Majesty, that we do not in any way wish to denigrate the Lion's achievements," he said, nervousness creeping into his voice for the first time. "Indeed, if anything our findings would elevate them. We only suggest that there is no evidence at all to suggest that he is – or was – divine."

"I'm sorry, but that's ridiculous," said Lucy again, sitting back down in her throne. "I suppose you know the story of how Narnia came to be? How do you suppose Aslan accomplished that, if he was nothing more than an ordinary lion?"

"I do not pretend to know," said the faun, bowing again. "Our society merely considers the improbability of the existing version."

"And what about the Stone Table?" demanded Lucy. "How do you think that he was resurrected?"

"With respect, there is no evidence for a resurrection, Your Majesty," said the faun apprehensively. "I merely suggest that the previous Aslan had instructed one of his acolytes in the necessary action should the Witch have the first victory."

Lucy rubbed her temples, assessing the faun's arguments. They were all utter nonsense, of course – how could the Stone Table have cracked, then? – but she supposed there was no real harm in them. However, further investigation was undoubtedly necessary.

"We will review your submission," she said finally. "We request that you suspend your activities until such time as we reach a decision."

The faun retreated with a bow, leaving Lucy alone in the throne room. She sat in silence for a short while, running her hand through her hair, before suddenly rising and leaving through the wide oak doors, with a savage little growl that sounded uncannily like "Edmund".

**

With a deep sigh of relief, Edmund added another scroll to the tottering pile beside him. He was almost there. The pile on the left side of his writing table was promisingly slight, and the sun was shining invitingly through his window. He wondered whether he might find time for a few hours on the beach with Lucy after he was finished.

However, such entertaining prospects were still in the future. He selected another scroll from his left and unrolled it, thinking that he could at least have a lunch break after this.

_Your Majesties_, the scroll began. Edmund groaned – it was going to be one of _those_ messages. It was usual to address each of the monarchs individually; only the hard-pressed or the ignorant began letters by addressing them as a group. Either way, Edmund reflected, this was going to require some sort of action.

Edmund's eyebrows rose progressively higher on his forehead as he scanned the letter. After he had finished he stared at it for a full minute in disbelief, and then began rummaging for some fresh parchment. At least, he told himself, he didn't have to deal with the public submissions today …

A bang sounded down the hallway, and Edmund's eyes went at once to his open door. He reprimanded himself feverishly for leaving it open, when, after all, he had had some idea that there might be a … well, a disturbance.

"Edmund Pevensie! You wait until I get my hands on you!"

Edmund let out a most un-kingly whimper. It was worse than he thought – his sister Lucy only used that tone in the gravest circumstances. There was no time to lose; he leapt up from his seat and dashed to the door, fumbling for the keys with which to lock it.

Too late. Lucy charged into the door just as he began to close it and forced herself into the room. She grabbed hold of Edmund's hands to stop him fleeing to the safety of his chair and locked eyes with her brother.

"You dare!" she screeched. "You knew very well what I would find down there and, like the despicable coward you are, you foist it onto your _younger _sister! Very just of you, Edmund, I'm sure everyone would be so proud! It's just disgusting; you take all of the nice diplomatic tasks and give me the –"

"Lucy," said Edmund desperately, interrupting the seemingly endless flow of words from her mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I _talking _about! What –" Words failed Lucy, and she stared furiously at Edmund for a few seconds, relaxing her grip on his hands slightly. Which was just what Edmund had been hoping for.

"My dear Lucy," he said, carefully extricating himself from her grip and striding back over to his chair, "I merely suggested that you might like to take public submissions today. How could I have known what would happen?"

"You must have known," growled Lucy, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You must have …"

"I assure you, Lucy, I had no idea," said Edmund in a dignified tone, shifting a roll of parchment to cover the incriminating document.

Lucy raised her eyebrows. Edmund struggled valiantly, but there was no escape from _that_ look.

"I may have had some slight idea," he prevaricated, "but I would never have put you in any kind of –"

"Do you know what he was saying in there, Edmund?" Lucy had recovered her voice. "Do you know what I was subjected to? He as good as accused Susan and me of lying about the Stone Table, and there were all sorts of … of _insinuations_ that I had to listen to. Is that the sort of thing a caring brother would do? Is it?"

"Lucy, it's just words," said Edmund as calmly as he could. "There's nothing there that could harm you, and I knew that. I also knew that I had all of this work to do today and I really hoped that you would take this one off my plate."

Lucy stared at him for a moment, and then gave a guilty little smile. Edmund smiled too. His sister never stayed angry for long.

"Anyway, I thought it might be good for you," he said, coming back over to her.

"Good for me?"

Edmund reached for the scroll that he had been reading before Lucy had stormed in.

"Look at this," he said. "This is what _I've_ been dealing with."

Lucy took the scroll and unrolled it, a sceptical look in her eyes. As she read it, however, the scepticism quickly became outrage.

"Edmund! What is this?" she exclaimed, shaking the scroll at him. "We can't allow it!"

"Why not, Lucy?"

"It's … it's just wrong!" she said. "It's unthinkable!"

"For us, maybe," said Edmund, sitting back down behind his desk. "But if it makes them happy, then …"

"But what would Aslan say?"

Edmund looked up. "Aslan, I think, would tell us that the affairs of the heart are his business and no-one else's," he said. "It's not up to us to tell people what to think, Lu."

"But Edmund, this is just …" Lucy struggled for words. "It's unsupportable! What sort of people would do this?"

"Oh, I imagine they're rather like you and me," said Edmund absently, beginning to pen his reply. "Most people are, you know."

"They can't be," said Lucy furiously. "The very idea …"

"Lucy," said Edmund, still scribbling on his reply, "there are some things that we all share, things that make us human, things that make _them_ Talking Beasts. This admittedly distasteful message contains nothing to challenge that."

"But Edmund –"

"I say again, Lucy," said Edmund, giving the royal seal to his reply, "it's not our business." He reached for another scroll. "I'll see you tonight."

**

BOOM! A shower of green and red burst above the harbour of Cair Paravel. The various creatures gathered below let out appreciative _ooh_s and _aah_s, and there was scattered clapping – scattered, because most people knew to wait until the end and save themselves aching hands.

Lucy peered out with delight from under her canopy. She and her brothers and sister had seats of special prominence; they could see all the inhabitants of Cair Paravel spread out on the grass in front of them.

Lucy loved fireworks. It was she who had insisted on the annual display for the New Year, although she had received little opposition – Susan, whatever her fretting about organisational nightmares, could never resist a party, and Lucy knew that both the boys were quite as keen as she was.

She settled back happily into her chair, drinking in the scene. It was beautiful, to see everyone having such a lovely time. Lucy wished things like this could happen more often.

Suddenly, she saw the faun. He was there, down by the wharf, sitting with what she supposed were his family. Lucy bristled in annoyance. She half-rose to go and speak to the faun, but Edmund, on her left, laid a hand on her arm and she sank back down.

Another boom signalled another shower of colour. Lucy heard Susan laugh in delight.

And she saw the faun give a deep, happy sigh and put his arm around his wife. She saw him ruffle his children's hair and laugh with them.

Lucy glanced to her left. Edmund gave no sign that he had seen the faun … but, of course, he would not have recognised him. Anyway, he was having far too much fun with the fireworks to worry about things like that.

Lucy took his hand and squeezed it.

Edmund looked around in surprise. "What is it, Lu?" he asked.

Lucy smiled. "You were right," she said.

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**A/N: This was yet another way of combating writer's block, and of getting the hang of writing Lucy. It also uses a very old idea that sprung from an invigorating conversation with Lirenel a while ago. I hope I wasn't too vague, but I didn't want anything to be too specific.**

**Reviews welcome, as always!  
**


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